


Till A' the Seas Gang Dry (December 1957)

by Squibstress



Series: Epithalamium (Albus and Minerva) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1950s, Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Het, Pre-Canon, Romance, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squibstress/pseuds/Squibstress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="story">
  <p></p>
  <div class="summary">
    <p>In this short follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/407641/chapters/673725"><i>Epithalamium</i></a>, Minerva and Albus venture into the Muggle world to enjoy a winter honeymoon in Italy. It opens just after the end of Chapter 54 of <i>Epithalamium</i>, but you don't have to have read that story to enjoy this tale.</p>
    <p><b>Rating:</b> MA/NC-17  </p>
    <p> <b>Characters:</b> Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Thorfinn McGonagall, Morna MacLaughlin, Einar McGonagall, Katherine McGonagall</p>
  </div>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Fishy, to mitigate her sadness at the ending of _Epithalamium_. None of my usual angst here; just a little fluff and good old-fashioned lemons. I hope you enjoy it, my dear!
> 
> The title is, of course, from Robert Burns’s 1794 song, “My Luv is Like a Red, Red Rose.”
> 
> I've added a page to my blog ([squibstress.wordpress.com](http://squibstress.wordpress.com/epithalamium-series/till-a-the-seas-gang-dry/)), with more about this story, including a link to my [Springpad notebook](http://springpad.com/#!/squibstress/notebooks/tillatheseasgangdry/blocks) for it, where you can find images and videos of the places Albus and Minerva visit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus enjoy their wedding night and spend Christmas morning with her family.
> 
> **Rating:** MA/NC-17 
> 
> **Characters:** Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Thorfinn McGonagall, Morna MacLaughlin, Einar McGonagall, Katherine McGonagall, Morrigan McGonagall

  


As soon as the door was shut behind him, Albus asked, "That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

Minerva sat on the edge of the bed and pushed off her shoes with a sigh. "No. It was quite nice, actually. Well, other than Filius's singing . . . that I could have done without."

"You can hardly blame him, after all that wine. He normally has quite a fine tenor."

"I hope he gets back to Hogwarts safely."

"I asked Amelia to take him via Side-Along," said Albus. "She'll make certain he gets back into the castle in one piece. And Horace is holding the wards in my absence; he can hold them for another few hours until Filius gets his hands on a Hangover Potion."

Minerva stood looking at her new husband for a few moments.

She'd loved him for thirteen years—longer, if she counted the love of a child for a favourite adult—sometimes with great joy, sometimes despairing, and up until recently, secretly.

This evening, they'd publicly—well, semi-publicly—declared their feelings for one another as if they were a matter of importance to anyone else. He'd even kissed her in front of everyone . . . and she'd sung to him!

He'd been surprised by that, she thought, smiling to herself. The McGonagalls were a musical family, and song was a regular part of their private celebrations, but she'd never sung a note in front of anyone but family. But after her brother's rather maudlin rendition of "My Luv is Like a Red, Red Rose" had made her father weep, she'd thought the atmosphere needed lifting. So she'd made Einar accompany her on the piano while she sang "Comin' Thro' the Rye". An odd choice for a wedding, perhaps, but it was jaunty and suited her voice well, and it was fitting somehow, with its verse about the anonymous swain.

_Not so anonymous now_ , she thought as she regarded him.

He was just standing there looking back at her, making no move to get ready for bed.

She began to take down her hair, saying, "There's room in the wardrobe if you want to hang up your robes."

She took the pins from her hair by hand rather than by magic and quickly unwove the flowers, setting them on the dressing table with the pins. Sitting back on the bed, she bent to rub her feet for a moment. When she looked up, he was still just standing there, looking at her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I just want to remember what you looked like on our wedding day," he said.

She smiled. "Edgar took some photos."

"That was good of him."

He crossed to her and knelt down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees.

"Thank you," he said.

"What for?"

"For wanting to be with me."

She stroked his cheek, then leant down to kiss him.

"I still can't believe it," she said.

"What?"

"That this is happening . . . that we're together and nothing's going to stop it. It's like a dream."

Reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face, he said,

"My love is now awake out of her dreames,  
And her fayre eyes like stars that dimmed were  
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beames  
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere."

"Spenser,” Minerva said.

"You know it?" he asked, surprised.

"My father was very fond of Elizabethan verse. I had to memorise large parts of _The Faerie Queene_ and _Epithalamion._ "

Albus chuckled. "So did I. Aberforth and I were made to memorise a poem a week. I'm afraid I was a bit of a show-off and did all of _Epithalamion_ one week and _The Rime of the_ _Ancient Mariner_ the next. I was going to be quite shocking the following week with _Don Juan_ , but Aberforth made it clear that there was to be no more epic poetry."

"And how did he do that?"

"A creative variation on the Tongue-Tying Jinx. Every time I opened my mouth, I came out with the most embarrassing confessions. Some of them were even true."

"Fifty points to Aberforth," said Minerva, laughing. "Was he a Ravenclaw?"

"Hufflepuff."

Minerva's brows rose. She'd never have guessed that that gentle House could have produced such an unpleasant character.

Albus seemed to know what she was thinking, because he said, "He was an extremely loving, devoted child. I sometimes think if he'd been less so, what happened later would not have affected him as deeply."

After another moment, Albus said, "I was surprised to see him today."

"I gave him a Portkey," said Minerva. "I hope you don't mind. I thought your brother should be here."

"Of course I don't mind. I had asked him myself, but you can imagine how that conversation went. You are obviously far more persuasive."

She snorted her scepticism on that point.

"You interest him, I think," said Albus. "He enjoys a good argument with a worthy opponent."

"I've barely ever spoken with him."

"Well, it was good of you to ask him."

"I hope he wasn't too uncomfortable," Minerva said.

"I don't think so, but he's never been at ease in company. He's used to keeping to himself, even in the bar. But that's enough about my brother for the moment, I think."

Perhaps it was the unaccustomed dress or just the fact that they were finally alone after hours of being the centre of attention, but she suddenly felt self-conscious under his gaze.

"Aren't you going to get ready for bed?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly, as if clearing it, and looked around to locate his bag. Taking a nightshirt and a small toiletry kit from it, he said, "I'll just be a few moments," and disappeared into the tiny bathroom.

Minerva changed into her nightdress, casting very gentle cleansing and smoothing charms on the wedding dress before hanging it carefully in the wardrobe. She'd ask Glynnie to pack it away tomorrow. Minerva knew she would never have a daughter to pass it on to, but perhaps her niece would want to use it one day.

Albus came out of the bathroom in his dressing gown, and Minerva went in to clean her teeth. He was already in bed when she emerged.

She got in beside him and put out the candles.

"Good night, my love," he said, kissing her lips quickly.

_Odd_.

Here they were in the same bed . . . and it _was_ their wedding night . . .

Minerva had an idea of what the trouble might be. Perhaps the best approach would be not to mention it.

She turned to him and put a hand on his chest. Snuggling closer, she slipped the hand up under his nightshirt and ran it across his chest, moving lower to stroke his soft belly. After a few moments, he leant over to kiss the top of her head.

"I love you very much," she said.

"And I you."

Still, he made no move to touch her, so she let her hand wander lower, and she was pleased when her arm was nudged by tip of his cock, firm and straining upward in response to what she was doing.

She let her arm brush against it several times as she caressed his lower belly and along the sides of his hips. Still, he didn't move, so she finally ran a finger gently up the length of his penis, feeling it twitch.

"Oh, Minerva . . ." he said with a sigh. "We should get some sleep."

"Are you too tired?" she asked, although she knew the answer. No matter how busy he was, he was never too tired to make love to her. They rarely had enough time together to waste it sleeping.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"Not too tired for this," she said, grasping his erection and running it firmly through her palm. "After all, don't I deserve some compensation for enduring a wedding?"

"We have a busy day tomorrow," he said.

"Yes, but you said we don't have to be at Dover until after noon. We can have a lovely lie-in. I don't imagine anyone will come bursting in to wake us up the morning after our wedding."

She emphasised her point by pressing herself against him and adding a second hand to her work, cradling his testicles as she stroked him.

Still, he didn't move.

She released him and lay back against the pillow. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's been more than a week, and I just want you so much."

This time, he turned to face her. "I'm very glad," he said. "And I want you too. But don't you think we should wait until we're somewhere else?"

"Why?"

"Your father is right down the hall."

"Surely you're familiar with Silencing Charms?"

"Yes, but it feels odd to be doing this right under his nose."

"We're hardly 'right under his nose'."

"Yes, but I don't want him thinking I'm . . . well . . . abusing his daughter under his roof."

She was glad he couldn't see her amused smile. "You don't plan to abuse me, do you, Albus?" she asked. "Besides, I have a bit of news for you: it's our wedding night. He's going to assume we're doing it whether or not we actually make love."

"That is hardly a comforting thought," said Albus. "I do have to be able to look the man in the eye at breakfast in the morning."

She couldn’t help a short bark of laughter escaping her.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you, my darling, honestly. I just couldn't help thinking about my ancestors."

"What about them?"

"Legend has it that members of the wedding party were required to witness the consummation of the marriage. Or at least to stand outside the door as it happened."

Albus snorted a laugh of his own.

"I must say, I'm very glad that tradition has died out," he said. "I'm quite certain I would be unable to perform with an audience."

"I would have to do something to help you along, then," she said, taking hold of his cock once again and running her hand up and down, her thumb brushing over the tip, making it twitch.

She heard him sigh, but he didn't stop her. After a minute, he Summoned his wand and cast a Silencing Charm.

He sent his wand back to sit on the dresser and turned to her, putting a hand behind her head and bringing his lips down on hers. His tongue began to play teasingly along the inside of her lower lip, and she moaned in encouragement.

His hands found her breasts, kneading them and playing his fingers over her taut nipples through the silk of her gown. She pulled his head down to hers and buried her face in his neck, moving his beard out of the way. Her lips moved over his skin, kissing, sucking, and nipping lightly, as her hands stroked him below.

"If you don't stop, we won't have the chance to consummate this marriage," he whispered. "I'm going to come right in your hands."

"That wouldn't be the end of the world," she said.

"No, but I want to be inside you," he said, rolling on top of her with one swift motion, supporting his weight on his elbows. She Banished their clothes and opened her legs to him. His eyes never left hers as he pushed himself into her and began to rock his hips against hers.

Her legs came up to wrap around him, and her hands travelled over his back, her nails playing lightly over his skin, then to his arse, which she kneaded and pressed, urging him deeper.

He moaned and let his upper body sink down on hers, and she relished the feeling of his broad, hard chest pressing into her breasts. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the feeling of his cock filling her and his pubic bone pressing into her centre with each thrust.

She came suddenly and powerfully a minute later, a single cry escaping her as she was flung into the blissful oblivion of her orgasm, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of his buttocks.

When she recovered her breath, she opened her eyes and tried to look up at him, but his head was thrown back and his beard fell across her lips. She moved a hand up and ran it through his hair, pulling him down slightly, and his mouth met her eyelids in whisper-soft kisses. She tilted her head upward, and their lips met, barely touching, barely moving.

“My love . . . my love . . . my love . . . my love . . .” His words were hardly more than puffs of air in her mouth, and she felt almost as if he were attempting to breathe his life into her as he pumped and rocked against her, his hands coming up to cup her face.

The murmurs hardened into a kiss, lips parted, all teeth and tongue, and eventually Minerva had to tear her mouth from his, gasping as another wave of pleasure began to build in the pit of her belly.

Her lips met his hard shoulder, and she kissed and sucked at it, letting her tongue play over his salty skin. When she grazed it with her teeth and bit down suddenly, he pumped into her harder and faster, moving his right hand down to her thigh, pulling it up and opening her wider as her second orgasm took her.

His rhythm broke, his thrusts becoming wild and erratic, and she tightened around him, knowing it would tip him over the edge into ecstasy. He came shouting her name, as he almost always did, and when he finally stilled, breathing hard, she stroked the slick skin of his back and nestled her face into the crook of his neck, kissing and humming against it, “Albus, my love, my darling.”

When his breath evened out again, he pushed up on his elbows and looked at her.

She smiled up at him, and he kissed her lips quickly three times.

“Thank Merlin for Silencing Charms,” he said, and she laughed.

He moved off her, and she slid over closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’d say this marriage has been well and truly consummated,” he said, his hand coming down to rest at her hip.

Minerva said, “Indeed it has. No annulment for you, I’m afraid, so I hope you’re not having any second thoughts.”

“None at all.”

“Of course,” said Minerva, “You could always complain to my father that I didn’t come to our marriage bed a virgin. That was grounds for annulment according to Viking law.” 

“That would be most hypocritical of me,” Albus replied, “seeing as I was the man responsible for first leading you astray.”

“I don’t think it was you doing the leading. If you’ll recall, Professor Dumbledore, it was I who seduced you. But I’ve made an honest wizard of you now, so I’ll have no complaints.”

“No complaints, Professor McGonagall. Certainly not,” he said. “I have adored you since I met you, you know.”

“When did you first fall in love with me?” she asked.

“Oh . . . when you were about seventeen, I suppose. It was very wicked of me.”

“I fell in love with you at my first Transfiguration lesson.”

“You were only eleven.”

“I was precocious,” she said, rubbing her hand over his chest. “I didn’t start having impure thoughts about you until I was sixteen, though.”

“I’d like to hear those thoughts someday,” he said, the last word partially eclipsed by his yawn.

“Someday.” She kissed his cheek and shifted over to her side of the bed. “Sleep now, my darling,” she said.

“Good night, my love.”

/***/

When Minerva awoke, Albus was still breathing heavily and steadily next to her. She rolled carefully onto her side and propped her head up on her hand to look at his face. His hair was tangled around his head in an auburn halo. There were streaks of grey around his temples and in his beard, just under the centre of his lower lip. Fine lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes, with deeper ones etched horizontally across his forehead, but he didn't look his age, she thought, even for a wizard. Her father was only two years older than Albus, but he looked older. But that might have been because Thorfinn McGonagall had gone a bit thick around the middle, while Albus's belly was still relatively flat—if soft—thanks to the many staircases at Hogwarts and walks about the grounds and into Hogsmeade, she supposed.

She saw his eyes moving under his lids and wondered what his dream was about. She hoped it was pleasant, whatever it was. The first time she'd heard him groan in his sleep, she’d been torn between waking him and letting him sleep through, eventually deciding not to wake him. When she'd asked him about it the next day, he said he didn't remember any nightmare, so she'd said no more about it, although it had happened occasionally since.

Now, however, he seemed peaceful in his dreams. His lips were parted and very inviting. She couldn't resist leaning over and kissing them gently. She repeated the action with a little more pressure and let her tongue lap gently just inside his upper lip. When she opened her eyes, his sea-blue ones were looking at her.

"Good morning," she said.

His answer was to reach an arm up around her neck and pull her down again for a lengthier kiss.

She reached under the covers and found his erection. "Is this my Christmas present?" she said, grinning at him.

"It's a start," he replied. "Would you like to test it out?"

"Indeed I would, " she said, straddling him.

As she slid down on him, he Summoned his wand and cast a Silencing Charm.

"In case last night's have worn off. Oh, Minerva . . ." he said as she began to move up and down on his cock.

"Happy Christmas, Albus," she said as she fucked him slowly and thoroughly.

By the time they had washed and dressed, it was after nine o’clock, and they found the dining room empty. The breakfast buffet was still laid out, however, and Minerva helped herself to some haggis and a scoop of porridge, while Albus selected a tatie scone, two fried eggs, mushrooms, two sausages, and buttered toast slathered with the orange-and-Scotch-whisky marmalade that the McGonagall kitchen elves had been making for nearly two hundred years.

He merely smiled back at her raised eyebrows, asking, "May I fetch you a cuppa, my dear?"

"Yes, thank you."

Minerva's brother came in just as Albus popped the last bit of sausage into his mouth.

"We're gathering in the library for presies, if you're finished," said Einar.

"We'll be there in a moment."

The library was Minerva's favourite room in the house. The McGonagall family home was a large stone edifice—technically a castle, in fact— a bit worse for wear on the outside, but generally comfortable on the inside, if a bit draughty. Much of the house was closed off, and the library had long been the centre of family life. The walls were lined with bookshelves, of course, and the room was well-lit by three large iron candelabras and warmed by a fireplace that the house-elves kept blazing on all but the warmest summer days. The stone floors had been overlaid with wood and were strewn with worn wool carpets. Two heavy oak tables stood at either side of the room, one of which was now covered with gaily wrapped packages. In the centre of the room, near the hearth, sat a collection of club chairs, the leather faded and discoloured with wear in many spots.

When Minerva and Albus entered, the chairs nearest the fire were occupied, so Minerva used her wand to Summon one from the table. She gestured for Albus to sit, and when he did, she sat down on the floor by his legs.

“Happy Christmas,” Albus said to the group, which included Minerva’s father, Thorfinn, her grandmother, Morna MacLaughlin, her brother, Einar, and his wife, Katherine. Baby Morrigan sat on her father’s lap, struggling to get down.

“Oh, you want to see your Auntie Minerva, do you? All right, then, off you go,” said Einar, and set his daughter on her feet. The child teetered on her chubby legs for a moment, then found her courage and let go her father’s knees to toddle over to where Minerva was sitting.

“Well done, my lamb!” Minerva said. To Katherine, she said, “She’s ever so much steadier on her feet.”

“Indeed she is,” said Katherine. “Thank goodness for Llyndie or I’d lose track of her every five minutes.”

Morrigan let herself plop down on Minerva’s legs. She immediately took up a bit of her aunt’s skirt and started to gnaw on it.

“Let’s see if we can get you something better to play with,” said Morna. She Summoned one of the presents and set it in front of her great-granddaughter, who dropped Minerva’s skirt and began patting her hands on the box, squealing.

Twenty minutes later, Morrigan was sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, having happily abandoned the new toys strewn around her in favour of putting one of the empty boxes on her head and playing peek-a-boo with her grandfather.

The adults took rather longer to open their gifts, despite their being fewer in number than Morrigan’s, and there was soon an impressive pile of books sitting next to each person.

“I hope you like books, Albus,” said Thorfinn, indicating the stack at his feet, “because that’s what you’re like to get every Christmas and birthday around here.”

“Indeed,” said Albus, laughing. “I’m delighted.”

He’d given Minerva a rare copy of a 16th-century translation of Falco Aeslon’s treatise on human-to-animal Transfiguration, and she’d given him a curious pair of green-covered paperback books entitled _Lolita, Volume One_ and _Lolita, Volume Two_. She’d smirked at his obvious confusion and his struggle to find something to say about the gift, of which he could obviously make neither heads nor tails.

“Well, I have something that’s _not_ a book,” said Katherine, dropping a square package in Minerva’s lap. “It’s really for both of you,” she said to Albus, “but I think Minerva should open it.”

Minerva looked at Albus, who nodded, and undid the ribbon and opened the box. When she withdrew the contents, she felt her face heat up.

“What is it?” asked her father, leaning over to see.

“I don’t think you want to know, Da,” replied Minerva. She looked over at Albus, whose eyebrows had shot up at least two inches.

“Come on, what is it?” asked Einar.

Minerva sighed and held up the item for his inspection. It was a very sheer, black négligée with a deep slit on one side.

“It’s for your honeymoon,” said Katherine. “Einar and I quite enjoyed something like it on ours, so I thought I’d give you one.”

Despite her embarrassment, Minerva laughed when she saw her brother’s face fall into his hands. When she looked around the room, she saw that her father was shifting uncomfortably in his seat and Albus’s face had taken on a distinctly pink hue. Her grandmother, however, got up and marched over, taking the item from Minerva’s hands.

“There isn’t much to it,” said Morna, holding up the négligée, “but it looks a wee bit more comfortable than what I wore on my wedding night. My nightdress had a million tiny buttons. It took poor Jamie half an hour to get me out of the thing . . .”

Minerva took the négligée from her grandmother’s hands and put it back in the box. “Thank you,” she said to Katherine, who winked at her and said, “I certainly hope it will get more use on your honeymoon than those books.”

“Well,” said Thorfinn, a little too loudly, “what time is your ferry?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus embark on their journey.
> 
> **Rating:** T/PG-13 
> 
> **Characters:** Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, original characters

“ _Vos passeports, s’il vous plaît_?”

Albus handed the Muggle documents to the agent, who only glanced up briefly at each of their faces before waving them through.

As they passed through the Calais ferry terminus, Minerva leant in to whisper to Albus, “I’m awfully glad he didn’t ask us anything. I forgot to check what names you put on the passports.”

“For the duration of our trip, we are Albert and Victoria White, Mr and Mrs,” Albus whispered back.

“Oh, you _never_ . . .”

“Look at your passport, my dear.”

She took a quick glance. Snapping it shut, she put it in her handbag and said, “You know, Albu— _Albert_ , I think it’s a very good job you didn’t end up with the Aurors. You’d make a dreadful spy.”

“You mean the MI-6.”

“ _Hmm_?”

“The Muggle spies. Although Her Majesty’s government wouldn’t admit to it.”

“Well, whatever the Muggles call them, you wouldn’t get in.”

“Lots of people are called Victoria and Albert.”

Minerva just shook her head. “At least I shan’t have any difficulty remembering it.”

“We have a few hours before our train departs. What would you say to a bit of lunch in Paris, Mrs White?”

They found a quiet spot from which to Apparate, Albus taking them to a tiny alleyway in what turned out to be Les Halles. They came out into a street opposite Saint-Eustache and walked along the edge of the bustling marketplace until they arrived at the restaurant Albus had selected.

“You enjoy pork, don’t you?” he asked as he took hold of one of the brass pig’s trotters that served as the knobs and pulled the door open for Minerva.

After their meal—onion soup _gratinée_ and grilled pig’s trotter with chips, followed by the best chocolate mousse she’d ever had—Minerva declared herself full to bursting and suggested a walk before heading to the train station. They retraced the route they’d followed earlier, making a detour into the marketplace and stopping at various stalls. It was less crowded than before, and many vendors had packed up their wares, but the air was still thick with the pungent odours of spices and fish. Albus had a conversation with one fishmonger, who seemed delighted to explain to him the differences between the _pied de cheval_ and the _huître spéciale d'Isygny,_ and allowed them to sample one of each of his briny delights right from the shell.

Coming out of the marketplace, they wandered into Saint-Eustache. Minerva had never been in it before, and they strolled around, looking at the stained glass and Rubens’s “The Pilgrims of Emmaüs”. They stopped to admire the enormous organ, and to Albus’s great delight, the young man who had been lovingly wiping the ivory keys with a cloth turned out to be the organist. Albus exchanged a few words with him, and the organist sat down and began to play short passages from what Minerva thought might be Bach. The sound was magnificent, deep and resonant; Minerva could feel it in her body, and it gave her the shivers. __

When the organist finished, he handed Albus a bill advertising a concert of Bach’s _Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor_ to be held that evening at the church.

Albus handed it back with a rueful smile, saying, “ _Désolé, monsieur, main nous partons ce soir.”_

_“Domage. Au retour, alors,”_ said the man.

“ _Sans faute,_ ” said Albus. 

When they came out, the sun was hanging very low in the sky, and there was a light rain falling, so Minerva surreptitiously conjured an umbrella for them as Albus attempted to hail a taxi for the trip to the train station so they would appear to be as any Muggles arriving for a voyage. When they arrived at the Gare de l’Est, the driver was confused when Albus asked him to open the boot.

“ _Nos baggages_ ,” Albus explained.

The driver remonstrated, but Albus just shrugged and said, “ _Veuillez ouvrir le coffre, monsieur_.”

The man got out and went around to the back of the taxi, muttering under his breath.

Minerva raised her eyebrows when the very surprised driver withdrew two battered-looking suitcases from the taxi’s boot.

Albus paid him, and from the change in the driver’s expression, Minerva suspected he had added a generous gratuity to make up for the “misunderstanding” about the bags. ****

After the taxi had pulled away, Albus leant down and said in her ear, “It would look odd if we were to board the overnight train with only our small bags, so I did a little conjuring as we were getting into the taxi.” He picked up the bags, and they made their way to the platform, where crisply uniformed porters in duckbilled caps were wheeling trolleys piled with suitcases and trunks to the luggage car. A porter helped them aboard with their bags and showed them to their compartment. 

A few minutes later, they heard the whistle sound, and the train began to chug slowly out of the station. Minerva watched the lights of Paris go by, faster and faster, until they had gotten out of the city and into the surrounding countryside, which passed by in a verdant blur that faded to black as the sun slipped down beyond the horizon.

A steward knocked on the compartment door and slid it open, requesting their passports. When Albus surrendered them, the steward flipped one open and looked at it quickly, then switched from French to lightly accented English.

“With your permission, Mr White, I will hold these overnight. This way, you will not be disturbed at the border crossings. They will be returned before we arrive in Venice. I assure you that they will be quite safe.”

“I’m certain of it,” said Albus. “Thank you.”

“Would sir and madam care for some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” said Minerva.

The young man returned shortly with some very good Ceylon and a plate of small cakes.

“This is lovely,” Minerva said, as Albus nibbled on a pastry. “I hardly expected such luxury.” She refrained from mentioning what it must have cost, but she thought it must have been quite dear to book a private sleeper compartment.

“We’ll only have one honeymoon,” he said. 

“I didn’t even expect one, so this is truly a wonderful treat. Thank you.”

“Yes, it was fortuitous that we had to wait until Christmas to be married. Otherwise, we mightn’t have managed to get away until the summer holidays.”

“Filius didn’t mind staying over?”

“No. He had no plans, he said.”

“No family to visit?”

“Filius is a widower,” said Albus. “And his sister died back in the ‘thirties, I think. He has a couple of nephews, but they aren’t especially close.”

“Oh,” said Minerva. She’d never enquired about Filius’s family situation, but now she was curious. “He was married, then?”

“Yes. I never met her. She and their daughter died of dragon pox before he came to Oxford.”

“How terrible!”

“Yes, it was. He doesn’t speak of them much, but from what little he’s said, I think he blames himself. They’d been in Eastern Europe, where he was doing research, and got caught in the epidemic.”

Minerva felt a wave of crushing sadness for the calm, kind man she’d gotten to know and like over the past year. She said, “I’d never have guessed. He always seems so cheerful.”

“Yes, well . . . he’s a happy soul, basically, I think. And quite resilient. He’s had to be.”

She couldn’t resist asking, “Is it true that he has Goblin blood?”

“Oh, yes. His grandmother was a Goblin. His grandfather never married her, of course. He couldn’t, with the laws as they are. So his father was considered a bastard, and as Filius tells it, was nearly barred from attending Hogwarts.”

“Terribly unfair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You knew him at school, didn’t you?”

“Yes. He was three years behind me, but we struck up a friendship.”

That didn’t surprise Minerva in the least. Filius Flitwick was one of the brightest people she knew, and she could only imagine that young Albus would have gravitated to one of his few fellow students who could keep up with him intellectually.

Albus said, “We met up again at Oxford in the ‘twenties. He was doing some advanced Charms research with Master Gamp when Griselda and I were starting up the Transfiguration lab.”

“That must have been a very exciting time,” said Minerva. She could only imagine how it must have been to be at Mallory College then, with Griselda Marchbanks and Albus Dumbledore spurring one another to greater and greater discoveries. Merlin knew she’d heard enough stories from Griselda during her own studies at Oxford.

“Indeed,” said Albus. “I was most fortunate. As you know, Griselda is—aside from being a brilliant scholar—something of a character.”

_Yes,_ thought Minerva, _that’s one way to put it._

Albus seemed to know what she was thinking. “I understand she became somewhat . . . rigid . . . later on.”

“A bit,” said Minerva. “She was good to me, but it did get a little frustrating.”

“Ah, well,” said Albus, taking her hand. “I look at it as a lucky thing. Had you been completely happy at Oxford, you might never have come to Hogwarts, and I would still be pining hopelessly away for you.”

“Oh, do stop. You never pined.”

“I did,” he said. “It thought of you all the time. Every day.”

“Did you?” she asked, her throat suddenly feeling tight.

“Yes,” he said. “I tried not to, but I wasn’t successful.”

“Do you think it was providence?” she asked suddenly. She didn’t believe in fate, not exactly, but she couldn’t help feeling that somehow she and Albus were meant to be together. She’d told herself often enough that it was foolish, but she wanted to know if he felt the same way.

“Something like that,” he said. “But whatever it was, providence or accident, I am deeply grateful for it.” He put his arm around her shoulder, and she kissed him.

They broke apart at the sound of the compartment door sliding open. The steward informed them that dinner would begin seating in the dining car at seven-thirty and that he would prepare their compartment for the night while they were away.

“If sir and madam would care to leave their breakfast orders on the table, I will ensure it is served promptly tomorrow before we arrive in Venice,” he said, leaving two menu cards for them to fill out.

When he’d left, Minerva said, “Breakfast in our private compartment? How posh!”

“It is rather nice, isn’t it?” said Albus. “I must admit, the prospect of a breakfast not surrounded by hundreds of people is quite appealing.”

“It must be,” said Minerva. “But you could stay for breakfast at the cottage on Mondays,” she reminded him. “I wouldn’t mind getting up an hour earlier.”

“I know, my dear,” he said. “It isn’t that I don’t want to stay all night with you. But I feel that as Headmaster, I should make an effort to be at as many meals as possible.”

“I understand,” she said, smiling reassuringly at him.

“It would be lovely to have you at the castle,” he said. 

“What pretext could you possibly use?”

“I don’t know. I shall have to come up with one. Unless you want to tell the governors about our marriage now.”

“Oh, let’s think about that some other time,” she said.

She wasn’t anxious for the uproar—small though it would likely be—that would ensue should the divided Board of Governors get wind of her relationship with Albus. Although there was no rule prohibiting relationships between staff—or so Albus had said—the fact that she’d only been hired a year ago and was so much younger than he was would doubtless give the governors who disliked Albus ammunition to use against him. They would accuse him of ulterior motives in hiring her, no doubt, and a few would probably cast aspersions on her own character. She didn’t think he had enough enemies in the group to get the sack, but anything was possible. And if the issue became public, there would doubtless be a story or two in the _Daily Prophet,_ an idea that made her feel slightly ill whenever she thought about it. Among other things she preferred not to think about was the chance that Tom Riddle would turn up again, like the proverbial bad penny, and spread the tale of her earlier affair with Albus, which would be believed in light of their current relationship. That would almost certainly cause a very public scandal, even if it couldn’t be proven, and she didn’t want to imagine how her father might react. He had taken her marriage to a man only two years his junior apparently in stride, but Minerva didn’t think his equanimity would extend to knowing that Albus had been her lover when she was eighteen and still in school.

“You look pensive,” Albus said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’d just rather not think about anything practical right now. I’m too happy.”

“I’m very glad.”

They perused the breakfast cards and made their selections.

“We need to get changed for dinner,” said Minerva. “Although I’m not quite sure how we’ll manage it in this small space,” she said, looking around.

“I’ll just sit here while you change, then I’ll take my turn,” he said. 

Minerva withdrew a small box from her handbag, then Summoned her wand from its hidden pocket inside her Muggle suit jacket and used it to return her trunk to its normal size. She barely had room to open it but eventually managed to withdraw her evening dress and shoes. After removing a pair of onyx hair combs from a small drawer in the trunk, she re-Shrunk it and put it back in her handbag.

She felt Albus’s eyes on her as she removed her blouse, so she turned away from him with a smile, saying, “A gentleman would avert his eyes while a lady is dressing.”

“The gentleman in question is simply appreciating his wife’s charms.”

“Well, you can appreciate them more later. We don’t want to be late for dinner. It’s the last seating.”

He cleared his throat and stood, saying, “Perhaps I should avail myself of the water closet while you get dressed.” He went to the door and opened it just enough to stick his head out. “All clear,” he said and opened it enough to slip out.

When he returned, she was dressed, and it gratified her to see his smile when he saw her.

“You look lovely, my dear,” he said. “A new dress?”

“Yes. When you suggested the trip, I thought I’d get a few Muggle things. Amelia knows a good shop in Dovehouse Street. I thought I’d just Transfigure anything else I might need, but I didn’t think I could do justice to a smart suit or an evening dress, so I got them there.”

“Beautiful,” said Albus. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in that colour before. It suits you.”

“Thank you.” She was afraid she’d sound terribly sentimental and foolish if she told him she’d selected that particular shade of blue because it reminded her of his eyes, so she didn’t.

He put his hands on her waist and drew her closer, planting soft kisses on each bare shoulder. “I shall have a hard time keeping myself from doing this during dinner,” he said. “Your shoulders are very, very enticing.”

“Fortunately, the table will be between us, so you shan’t have the opportunity,” she said.

“I will just content myself with looking at you, then,” he said. As he turned, he added, “For now.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small zippered pouch, from which he took a tiny scrap of cloth and what looked very much like two blackcurrants. He used his wand to enlarge them into a tuxedo and shirt, and the currants turned out to be a pair of black patent-leather shoes.

“I should have thought of that,” said Minerva. “It would have made much more sense to put my things into a small bag instead of the trunk.”

“My years roaming the Continent taught me to travel very light,” Albus said. “Although I expect that’s more difficult for a witch. Shrinking gowns and the like is a trickier business, and you have so many things to keep track of.”

“Yes, the trunk does help keep things organised,” said Minerva.

She used the tiny mirror over the fold-out sink to fix her hair while he changed. When she finished, he was struggling with his bow tie. “Ah,” he said, giving up in frustration. “Would you mind, my dear? I never have quite got the hang of this.”

She took up her wand and thought for a second, then pointed it at the tie, saying, “ _Ligate_!”

Stepping back to look at him, she said, “That doesn’t look quite right. I’m afraid I’ve never done a Muggle tie before. Let me have another go.”

It took three tries before she was satisfied. Albus looked in the small mirror and declared the effort “A for Acceptable”.

The very long walk to the dining car whetted Minerva’s appetite, and she was delighted to find _moules marinière_ on the menu. She loved mussels but rarely got them at home, and the light wine broth would be perfect after the heavy lunch they had consumed. Albus ordered a fillet of pickled beef, so they compromised on the wine, selecting a light Bourgueil that would clash with neither dish. As they waited for their meal, they chatted with a middle-aged couple seated at the next table.

When the man, who introduced himself as “Drummond, Drum for short,” mentioned that they were American, Minerva said, “I spent a few months in America several years ago. I found it quite enchanting.”

“Really? Where?” asked Drum.

“Outside Boston.”

“For business or pleasure?”

“Both, I suppose. I was teaching and doing a bit of research,” said Minerva.

“Let me guess,” said Drum. “Radcliffe?”

“ _Er_ . . .”

“Drum was a Harvard man,” said Drum’s wife, who was called Mary.

Drum chuckled. “Long before your time, of course,” he said to Minerva. “So, was I correct? Are you a Radcliffe girl?”

“No,” said Minerva, getting a bit nervous. She couldn’t very well tell them she’d been at the Salem Witches’ Institute, but she knew very little about Radcliffe, and certainly not enough to lie convincingly to someone who knew his way around Cambridge and its colleges.

“Wellesley, then? I hear it’s lovely. Never been there, myself.”

Minerva relaxed a little. “Yes. But I was only there for one term,” she said.

“What was your subject?” asked Mary.

“Biology,” Minerva said. Thanks to her advanced studies in cellular and molecular Transfiguration, she could hold her own in almost any discussion of mammalian biology, magical or Muggle.

“Goodness!” said Mary. “I’m afraid science quite escapes me. I only did a year of it at Vassar. Art History was my subject.”

“Oh?” said Albus. “How interesting! Italy is certainly a good place to see art.”

“Yes,” said Drum. “Mary’s been wanting to go for ages now, so we decided to make a tour of it: Paris, Venice, and Florence.”

“Drum surprised me,” said Mary, beaming. “For our thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

“How marvellous! Congratulations!” said Albus.

“Thank you,” said Drum.

Mary said, “And now I’m going to be nosy and ask you, what brings you to Italy?” Minerva suspected that she’d been trying to work out whether Albus and Minerva were a couple, or perhaps father and daughter travelling together.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” she said.

“Really?” said Mary, obviously delighted to have her answer at last. “Congratulations!”

“Yes, congratulations,” said Drum, reaching across the table to pump Albus’s hand. “I hope you’ll be as happy as we’ve been.”

“Thank you,” said Albus.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re a very lucky man.”

“Yes, I am. Victoria is as brilliant as she is beautiful.”

Mary asked Minerva, “So, are you a teacher?” 

“I am,” said Minerva. “So is Albert, actually.”

“How nice! Do you work at the same school?”

“Yes,” said Albus, “at a small secondary school in Scotland. Victoria teaches science, and I am fortunate enough to be Headmaster.”

“And that’s how you met, am I right?” asked Drum.

“Yes,” said Albus.

“I taught art to the fifth grade for a year,” said Mary. “That is, until I married Drum. Do you plan to keep working, Victoria?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’ll change when the babies start to come,” said Drum with a wink at Albus.

Minerva could feel the heat starting to rise in her face and had to stop herself from saying something rude at the man’s presumption.

With a glance at Minerva, Albus said, “Oh, I don’t think so. Victoria is quite gifted and committed to her work.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” said Mary. Turning to Minerva, she said, “You should be able to have a career and a family.” To her husband, she said, “Girls do that now, Drum.”

“I don’t hold with it, if you don’t mind my saying so,” said Drum.

Minerva minded very much but took a sip of wine to prevent herself from telling the man exactly what she thought of his opinion. 

He continued, “A woman should be with her children. We’ve got four, and Mary was perfectly happy at home taking care of them, weren’t you, honey?”

“Yes, Drum, but not everyone feels the same way,” said Mary, and Minerva had the impression she was trying to make him stop talking.

But Drum chuckled and said to Albus, “Just you wait: give her a baby, and you’ll be in the market for a new science teacher.”

Minerva’s hand twitched at her side, where she usually kept her wand, and she said, “It’s lucky I brought my pessary, then.”

She was gratified when Drum started choking on the martini he had just brought to his lips. She thought she caught a fleeting smile cross Mary’s face as she patted her husband firmly on the back.

Albus gave Minerva a look that plainly said he thought she’d crossed the line, but she stared back at him, raising her eyebrow, and he smiled.

“Ah,” he said, “and here’s our dinner.”

The waiter had arrived just in time, and there was no more talk between the couples until Mary and Drum rose immediately after dessert.

“Good evening, Victoria, Albert,” said Mary. “It was a pleasure to have met you.”

“Yes,” said Drum, not looking at Minerva, his eyes scanning the dining car, intent on escape.

“The pleasure was ours,” said Albus, rising to kiss Mary’s hand.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, blushing and turning to her husband. “I just love Englishmen. So gentlemanly.” To Minerva she said, “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Thank you. And I hope you enjoy your trip as well,” Minerva said.

As the couple retreated, Albus leant across the table and said quietly, “I’m rather surprised at you, Minerva.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that dreadful man was asking for it. He’s lucky I didn’t hex him.”

“Perhaps, but your tongue can be just as dangerous as your wand, you know.”

“Why, thank you.”

When they got back to their compartment, the banquette had been converted into two narrow beds, one just above the other.

“This will never do,” said Albus, removing his wand from its pocket in the interior of his jacket. He used it to enlarge the upper bunk—there was no room to make the lower any bigger—and added a few strengthening spells for good measure.

“Your bed, milady,” he said, bowing.

Minerva soon found that while the lurching and rocking of the train lent a titillating element of unpredictability to sex, it wasn’t nearly as conducive to satisfying sleep.

Albus, who seemed to have the enviable ability to sleep anytime, anywhere, had dropped off within five minutes of rolling off her, one arm thrown across her chest, his face pressed against her hair.

After nearly two hours of dozing and being jerked awake by the movement of the train or the metallic whine of its wheels, Minerva transformed into her feline form and curled up in the crook of Albus’s arm, hoping he wouldn’t roll over in the night and crush her. Sleep came more easily to her as a cat, and within a few minutes, she was dreaming, ears still alert and twitching in the direction of each unfamiliar sound. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva arrive in Venice. They see a few of the sights and spend a not-so-quiet evening in the hotel.
> 
> **Rating:** NC-19/MA 
> 
> **Characters:** Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a page to my blog ([squibstress.wordpress.com](http://squibstress.wordpress.com/epithalamium-series/till-a-the-seas-gang-dry/)), with more about this story, including a link to my [Springpad notebook](http://springpad.com/#!/squibstress/notebooks/tillatheseasgangdry/blocks) for it, where you can find images and videos of the places Albus and Minerva visit.  
> 

They arrived in Venice the next afternoon, having enjoyed a private breakfast eaten while they were stopped in Innsbruck, and then the view as the train wound its way through the Brenner Pass and into northern Italy. When they disembarked at the Santa Lucia station after lunch, they joined the throngs disgorged from the recently arrived trains and took the _vaporetto_ to the Rialto. Thank Merlin they’d been able to discreetly Shrink their bags in the station, as they had to walk several blocks to reach the small _pensione_ Albus had selected for their stay.

She was tired after the restless night she’d passed, but by the time they got to their room, she was anxious to get out and explore the city, so they set out in the crisp December air, first to the Rialto Bridge and through the fruit and vegetable market, then along the Grand Canal, eventually turning to wind through the tiny side streets to the Campo San Polo and on to the Scuola Grande di San Rocco.

The Tintorettos that crowded the walls and ceiling of the upper salon were beautiful, but oppressive, she thought, in their ubiquity. She spent some time looking at the details of each one, glad for her father’s long-ago insistence that she study the Christian Bible and its stories. She shuddered as she looked at the Raising of Lazarus; it reminded her of Inferi and other Dark magic she’d read about during her training as an Auror.

They came out and doubled back to Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. In contrast with the intricate Renaissance façade of its neighbour, this building’s spare Gothic exterior didn’t prepare her for what was inside.

As they proceeded up the wide nave toward the apse, Minerva stopped, momentarily stunned by the view.

“This is . . .”

She had no words.

Titian's spectacular _Assumption of the Virgin_ dominated the chancel, rising thirty feet above the altar, the uplifted arms of the apostles and the Virgin directing the eye upward to the heavens and their god. The light that shone in, even on this grey day, from the slender, ogival pairs of stained-glass windows beside and above the painting gave it the appearance of being illuminated from within.

They stood in captivated silence for a few minutes.

She hadn’t been in this church when she’d visited Venice with her father many years before. That trip had been largely for his research, and they’d spent most of their time in the libraries of the Marciana and the Accademia, or around the Venetian Ghetto, where the city’s wizarding population had settled alongside its Jews when both were relegated to the Cannaregio _sestiere_ during the early sixteenth century.

Albus took her hand and squeezed it. 

“Titian was always one of my favourites,” he whispered as they continued to gaze at the painting.

She could see why.

Finally, they tore themselves away from it to look at the other marvels the church held—the beautifully carved choir stalls, Antonio’s Canova’s oddly modern-looking, pyramidal funerary monument, and another Titian, as well as the nineteenth-century tomb of the painter himself.

Albus was especially interested in the burial place of composer Claudio Monteverdi—a simple plaque carved into the pink-and-white marble floor.

“I shall have to tell Nicolas I’ve seen it. He was at the first performance of _Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria_ and became a great admirer of Monteverdi’s. He often complains that his operas aren’t performed anymore.”

When they came out, it was dark, and there was a light rain falling.

“What would you say to an early dinner and then bed?” Albus asked. 

“I’d say lead on, man.”

They walked back to their hotel and got a recommendation from the desk clerk, whose girth, Albus later declared, was a hint that she knew where the neighbourhood’s best food was to be had.

The restaurant was homey and small, but they were early, and the waiter gave them a prime seat near the blazing fireplace. Minerva was hungry, so they had a hearty _risotto_ of Borlotti beans to start, and a bottle of Amarone. That was followed by a rabbit stew in rich broth for Minerva and a _fritti mista_ for Albus. They polished off the red wine with dinner, so he ordered two glasses of sweet Torcolato to go with their pudding, warm chocolate cake drizzled with hazelnut cream.

As they stepped out onto the cobblestones of the tiny street, Minerva put a hand to her head.

“I think I’ve had too much wine,” she said.

“Minerva McGonagall? Drunk? Impossible,” said Albus, and she batted him on the elbow he offered to steady her.

“There was a lot of wine in that _risotto_. And I think there was some in the broth with my rabbit. Then you ordered wine with the pudding.”

“All part of my dastardly plan to get you pissed and have my wicked way with you.”

“You brute,” she said, smiling, and he pulled her into his arms.

She was just tight enough to feel no shame as they kissed in the middle of the street with evening strollers looking at them as they passed. His lips were warm and sweet, and she felt positively wanton as she pressed her tongue into his mouth.

A group of youths came by, hooting and whistling. When one young man called out, “ _Bravo, Nonno_!” Albus broke the kiss, but she held him close, their breath making warm puffs of mist that mingled in the frigid air.

“Keep that up, and you’ll have to carry me back to the hotel,” she said.

He grinned at her like a schoolboy and grasped her hand.

Their second-floor room was small, but it had its own bath and a window that opened onto a tiny courtyard rather than the noisy street. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Albus cast a Warming Charm. Minerva took off her coat and gloves, tossing them on the straight-backed chair that sat in the corner of the room, and began tugging at the buttons to her dress, her fingers maddeningly unobliging, thanks to the chilly walk. Frustrated, she grabbed her wand from its hidden pocket, intending to Banish her clothes, but he grasped her wrist.

“Slow down, my love,” he said, nuzzling her forehead. “We have all night and nowhere we have to be in the morning.” The fingers of his other hand ghosted over her breasts as he reached for her buttons. “I want to undress you myself.”

A shiver went through her as she remembered him saying something similar the first time they’d made love, when the newly discovered desire that had stirred in her for months finally clicked into place, like a key in a lock.

She sent her wand to rest on the small bedside table.

He removed his heavy overcoat and laid it on the chair along with his Homburg. His hands were steadier than hers as he began to undo the buttons that went from the neck of her wool dress to the calf-level hem. She undid the maroon-and-gold tie at his throat and pulled it out from under his collar-stiffeners, then stuffed it in his jacket pocket. After pushing the jacket from his shoulders, she tugged his shirt out from his trousers and got to work unbuttoning it.

When Albus’s hands reached her waist, the front of her dress fell open, and he bent to kiss the skin he’d bared, running his tongue over her clavicles and into the soft divot that lay between them. He kissed her neck, his lips sucking gently at the place where her carotid artery pulsed with life. 

Her hands carded through his hair, short and slicked back in the Muggle way. Distracted as she was, it took her two tries before her “ _Finite Incantatem_ ” released the charm and his long hair and beard shimmered back into being to flow in auburn-and-silver waves over his back and chest.

“Better,” she whispered, letting her mouth touch his, her lips light and elusive as the brush of a butterfly’s wings.

His fingertips danced over the sides of her breasts and down her belly as she pulled her arms from the sleeves of her dress and pushed it past her hips to step out of it, leaving her in a brassiere, knickers, and stockings.

He removed his shirt and vest, then his belt and trousers, the buckle making a dull, metallic _thunk_ when he dropped the garments in a messy heap on the floor. They both bent to remove their uncomfortable Muggle shoes, and when they straightened up, he turned her around so that her bottom pressed up against his thighs. He unhooked her bra and helped her push it off, his hands coming around her to knead her bare breasts. His mouth tickled across her shoulders as she rubbed herself against him through the frustrating cloth that separated her from his skin.

Maybe it was the wine, but she wanted him with a desperation she hadn’t felt since they’d resumed their affair that cold March day nine months ago, wanted to drown in his flesh and the sensations he evoked in her.

She tried to pull away and move him toward the bed, but he held her fast. Her nipples were hard peaks of electric sensation as he pinched and rolled them between his fingers, and she moaned. He broke off his work to Summon his wand and cast a Silencing spell, then tossed the scarred Elder stick onto the chair with their coats.

One hand returned to her breast, while the other travelled south to her sex, fingers pushing the thin silk into her most intimate parts.

“So wet,” he murmured into her ear, “I can feel it right through your knickers.”

She could only gasp in response, because at the same moment, one of his insistent fingers found her clitoris, and words fled her. He held her still, his hard cock pressing almost uncomfortably into the small of her back.

When she moved one leg back to rub against the side of his calf, the hand that was teasing her stopped, and he released her, only to grasp the waistband of her knickers and yank them down around her thighs so that her legs were restrained. His arm came back around her, pressing her back against his bare chest.

“Don’t move.”

He reached down to cup her mound, holding her there for what seemed an eternity before he allowed a finger to move into her cleft and over the button of flesh that made her release the breath she’d been holding with a soft, “Oh!”

Her legs threatened to give out as he touched her, the tension coiling up from her centre forcing breathy cries from her mouth. As one finger caressed, another worked its way into her, probing and pressing, until her orgasm broke over her. He had to hold her up as she shook, pulsing around the finger that was still sheathed within her.

When she could stand on her own again, he let her go and knelt to pull her knickers all the way off. She returned the favour, letting her tongue tease the erection she had uncovered.

“No,” he said when she put her mouth on him in earnest. He pulled her to her feet and steered her to the bed. She turned down the coverlet and lay, legs spread and arms outstretched to receive him. He joined her, covering her body with his, but he didn’t take her; instead, he stroked her skin, letting his cock slide teasingly against her sex.

Minerva’s legs, still encased in stockings, came up to wrap around him. His weight on top of her and his familiar scent made her hum with pleasure as he whispered endearments between kisses that covered her face, ending with her mouth.

They kissed and frotted against one another, and just when she thought she’d scream with the need for him to fill her, he did.

“Minerva . . . my beautiful Minerva . . .” he said as he slid home.

He moved slowly, and she arched upward to meet him so that he rubbed against her in the right spot. 

“Love you,” he breathed over her, “want you always . . . always . . .”

He slowed his movements even more, then stilled, trembling above her.

“Please, Albus,” she said, pulling on his buttocks.

“Not yet . . . not yet . . .”

She tried to shift her hips up, but he let his weight pin her to the mattress. He took her left hand from his arse and held it to the pillow above her head, whispering, “ _Adhaere_ ,” and repeated it with her right hand. She couldn't move.

“Albus—”

He put a finger to her lips and traced it gently across them.

“I want to take my time tonight, and if you move too much, I won't be able to.”

He sank deep into her then, and pushed her legs together so that she was entirely trapped beneath him. She thanked whatever god was in charge of such things for the size of his cock. It felt huge, lodged between her closed legs, and that was exactly how she wanted it.

His pace was agonisingly slow, and her second climax hovered just out of reach as he pushed in, one maddening inch at a time, then withdrew the same way, leaving only the tip of his cock inside, repeating the motion over and over until she was almost senseless with need.

She groaned when he pulled out completely and brought his hands up to cup her cheeks. The way he looked at her nearly made her come; his eyes bored into hers as if he were looking into her soul. She wondered for a moment if he was using Legilimency—but no, she’d experienced that before, and this was nothing like it. She almost invited him to look, to see how much she loved him, but then he kissed her mouth again, and the idea dissolved. He moved to her breasts, teasing her nipples with lips and tongue, and she couldn't hold back a scream when he grazed one with his teeth, the sharp sensation on her taut flesh sending zings of pleasure to her centre. Kissing and suckling, he etched a meandering path down her body, leaving a trail of quivering desire in his wake.

He pressed her thighs wide, opening her most secret place to his gaze.

“Yes, please . . . oh, please . . .” she said, anticipating the touch of his tongue on her nub. Instead, he murmured, “Need to taste you,” and pressed his mouth to her sex, plunging his tongue into her opening. She tried to buck her hips up, but he pressed her more firmly to the bed with his strong hands, tongue darting and probing. She moaned as it teased her, moving in and out as his cock had been doing minutes before.

When he finally licked her clitoris, she howled. Her upper body arched off the bed, her arms pulling against the charm that held her wrists. She wanted to wrap her legs around his shoulders, but he held her by the hips while the long-delayed orgasm ripped through her. He slid his tongue deep into her again as wave after wave of ecstasy enveloped her.

After a minute during which she could barely think or breathe, her body relaxed back against the mattress, and he came up to lie on top of her again.

She came down from her euphoria and felt him pressing his erection rhythmically against her belly. Now that he’d driven her nearly mad with pleasure, she wanted to do the same for him, to feel him lose himself as utterly as she had lost herself. 

“Come up here,” she whispered. “Put your cock in my mouth.”

A small puff of breath escaped him. “Shall I release your arms?” he asked.

“No.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

He hesitated, then moved carefully up until his knees were straddling her head. Taking his penis in one hand, he guided it to her mouth.

She wrapped her lips around the head. As she moved her tongue around it, he gave a cry, and she began to suck him, her head bobbing back and forth. 

He leant forward, putting his palms to the wall for support, and as he began to pump gently in and out, she heard him moaning, “Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . .” softly. His cock pushed farther into her mouth—she had no choice but to take it in, and that excited her. All she could do was swallow around him, which she knew he loved. He stilled, and his shuddering breaths told her he was close to climax. Suddenly, he withdrew and moved down, pushing her thighs apart. He thrust into her hard and fast, and she cried out, the heat and pressure beginning to build again in her core as he moved in and out, grasping her legs and pushing them up against her body. She felt him deep inside her, and he moved a hand between them to stroke her. Her breath stopped and her arms pulled at the invisible restraints as she fell over the edge again, silent this time.

Albus’s cries were still soft, and she knew he was holding back, trying not to be too rough. She was having none of it. “Harder,” she said. He obeyed, but not with the enthusiasm she’d hoped for, so she made things clearer: “Fuck me hard, Albus Dumbledore. Hard as you can.”

That did the trick.

He propped himself up on his elbows for more leverage and slammed into her. It felt glorious, the pain transmuted into intense pleasure at the moment of total surrender, and it left her gasping, tears leaking from her eyes.

The punishing rhythm he took up was matched by her cries, and his voice joined hers, uttering nonsense as he pumped and thrust. The bed banged against the wall in joyful chorus, its wrought-iron frame shrieking and complaining.

“Yes! Yes! Gods!”

“My— Ah! You—”

The bed frame crashed to the floor, the jolt sending Albus sprawling on top of her.

It nearly knocked the breath from her, but she managed to gasp, “Don’t stop,” so he pushed himself back up and went back to his task as if nothing unusual had happened.

The Sticking Charm released when he came, shouting, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him down, wanting them to be as close as the laws of physics would allow while he pumped his climax into her.

After his spasms stopped, he sighed, and she buried her nose in his neck, planting kisses against the soft skin there.

His heart was thudding hard enough that she felt it in her own chest, and for a moment, she was concerned. But he lifted his head and smiled.

She did too, and then they both began to laugh.


End file.
